


Just Know That You Won't Be Forgotten

by NobleZeda



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Because for some reason people requested i tag that multiple times, Illness, Like Buckets of Sadness, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Sadness, The one where Stiles has that really bad illness, dont tell me i didnt tag it, even though its in big black bold letters, right underneath the title, see it there, sterek, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:02:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobleZeda/pseuds/NobleZeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking back, Derek wished to God he'd made Stiles do something about that odd scent sooner. Now it was too late, and Stiles was in the hospital.<br/>In which nobody realized that the illness Stiles's mom had had turned out to be genetic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Know That You Won't Be Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea a while ago and after it stopped feeling like I had been repeatedly punched in the heart I took a stab at it. Let's hope the result is worth while.  
> EDIT: I've been told to put a warning here that tissues may be required to read this. To each his own.

Lately, Stiles had been smelling... off. Derek hadn't mentioned it, and nobody else had seemed to think anything of it. Or, at least if they had, they were hiding it very well. It was after a close encounter with a group of hunters passing through town. The whole event had just been troublesome, resulting with the pack splitting up at Derek's order and scrambling to get away. It ended with Derek breaking through a chain-link fence, jumping onto a roof (with Stiles being the only one clambering behind him) and then Derek pulled Stiles's sorry ass over the other side just as a rain of bullets fell upon them.

Stiles was breathing heavily. His heart was pumping and he reeked of adrenaline... and something else. Derek couldn't quite place it. But it was enough to distract him from catching his breath. That was when he realized that he'd been covering Stiles's body with his own, and that that probably was not okay at all. He stepped back and tried to forget about the smell radiating out of Stiles's every pore.

“Dude...” Stiles gasped. “You just totally – like – batman'd me.”

“You're human,” Derek said, trying to ignore just how much his family resembled Batman's. At least he didn't parade around the city in some ridiculous costume.

“Yeah, I know that, thanks,” said Stiles, sounding only a little bit resentful. “But I'm not... weak, you know?”

“Bullets don't care how strong you are,” said Derek, standing up straighter and listening. The hunters were arguing over what to do. There were three of them. The first seemed to think it would be a good idea to split up – he would probably already be dead if he didn't have his partners. The second was voting on leaving them be. He said no serious damage had been done and that they could probably leave now and be forgotten if they tried hard enough. The third was all for following Derek and Stiles, but the second reasoned that they were both probably long gone.

“Wait,” Stiles paused, staring at Derek, still crouched, still panting. “Did Mr. Scary Aggressive Werewolf just agree that I'm strong?”

Derek glared at Stiles for a minute, before the smell really became a problem for him. “Why do you smell that way?” he asked.

Stiles gaped at him. “We were just running for our lives from crazy- okay! Okay, God, I go one day without showering and you fricking-”

“That's not what I mean,” Derek cut off, slightly annoyed.

“Then what the hell do you mean because I don't-”

“Nevermind,” Derek groaned. He should really think before saying something to Stiles because then it's just talking and talking and talking _and talking_ -

“Alright, whatever,” Stiles said, shaking his head and standing again. “Let's get out of here. Unless you want to maybe carry me away over you shoulder and insist it's because I'm human. God, you're so over dramatic...”

And then they had started to run back to Derek's apartment to meet up with the rest of the pack.

 

 ***

 

Derek had always had Stiles's name in his contacts, and vice versa. Granted, the last text Stiles had sent him was 'Kanima in bestiary. We've got it.' The last time Stiles had called him had been just after the Alpha pack left town, and that had been nearly a year ago. There hadn't been any more trouble than usual since then.

Derek had actually come up with excuses to get the pack together.

Isaac had been generous enough to take the blame – uh, credit – for the idea to have a “family movie night” and had gotten everyone there under the excuse that, “Well... the pack's my only family now.” He used his big puppy dog eyes, and even Derek would have said yes. The fact that he called people made no difference to his persuasion.

So everyone showed up, including Stiles. He walked in like he owned the place – and Derek pretended that he didn't enjoy that – and claimed his own spot on the couch. The rest of the pack naturally settled around him. That was something they subconsciously tended to do, for whatever reason Derek could guess. He had a few. Guesses, that is. The one he liked best being that they all genuinely like him. It was no secret that not everybody in the pack was extremely comfortable with everyone, but as far as Derek could tell, everybody liked Stiles. Apart from witty banter, there was no evidence to any resentment.

Nobody spoke, but gradually Stiles became buried under a mesh of werewolf parts. Derek was the only one to remain on an armchair, a great distance away. But he watched the others and smirked, occasionally caught Stiles glance his way, and was eventually hardly able to detect a peculiar smell under all of the werewolf.

 

 ***

 

The next time Derek noticed it was when Stiles and Scott had come over with information. Stiles had been researching the entire night before, which was very apparent in his tired eyes. However, Derek doubted that it was the first time he'd stayed up all night on the computer, so he wasn't really worried.

Scott was standing awkwardly, occasionally rubbing his nose, and Derek knew he could smell it, too. Stiles was talking about some sort of pattern he had found, but Derek wasn't really listening. He wouldn't say it out loud, but twist his arm, he would admit to himself that he was a little concerned. The scent definitely wasn't a good one.

He still smelled like Stiles. The overwhelming scent of teenage boy and something distinctly Stiles perpetrated Derek's nose with every molecule of air. But there was something else with it. Something that made Derek think gray thoughts, and want to frown.

Suddenly, Stiles was snapping his fingers in front of Derek's face, looking impatient.

“What?” Derek asked, eyes focusing in on those long fingers, and then back on Stiles.

“What?” Stiles repeated. “What do you mean 'what', have you been listening to a single word I've been saying over here?”

“No,” Derek answered, crossing his arms.

Stiles stared at him. “Oh my God,” he groaned, spinning in place a little. “Well, _hello_ , earth to Derek here! Kind of important maybe! Just sort of crucial information about the full moon coming up, but _noooo_ , take your time! Stay off in la la land and just let Stiles prattle on and on and on and on and _on_ -!”

“Stiles!” Derek growled.

Stiles rolled his eyes, then launched into another speech, probably the same as before. Derek found it just as hard to pay attention this time.

 

 ***

 

And Stiles had been right about the full moon. This one was doubly hard to get through, for whatever reason Derek hadn't been listening to. Isaac was having difficulty keeping control, and Derek was having trouble locking him up. Scott showed up literally just in the nick of time, Stiles in tow.

Isaac was ripping open Derek's chest. With his claws. Which, quite obviously, would fuck up Derek's day a little.

He was knocked onto his back, Isaac drawing nearer, Derek watching his own blood drip off Isaac's claws just as the door burst open. Scott took a brief (but still not short enough) survey of the situation before jumping into the action. He and Isaac were rolling around on the floor, fighting. Derek was rolling around on the floor, coughing up blood. He was vaguely aware of Stiles running over to him.

“Okay! Derek, Derek, just-!” Stiles was probably (Derek couldn't exactly tell from his current position) kneeling, leaning over Derek. Derek felt hands on his shoulders, holding him in place, and heard Stiles mumbling nonsense over him. “You're fine. You're fine. You're healing...”

It was true. Derek could feel his wounds closing up. “Not as quickly as I'd like,” he groaned, writhing against Stiles's hands, which actually weren't doing anything to hold him down, really.

“Yeah, goddammit,” Stiles agreed. “Why the fuck does super healing take so long. Man, werewolf life is so hard.” He let out a scoff. “Man, you should be _dead_. Be grateful, you sourwolf.”

Derek attempted to stand up, noting a considerable amount of blood around the area, even on Stiles's hands. He sniffed the air, catching a rank smell. The same rank smell he'd been smelling on Stiles for days now. “You...” Derek started, but the words died in his throat as healing took his breath away. “You still smell...” _like that_ , he was going to finish, but breathing was hard enough right then without talking too.

“Oh, thanks. Thanks, yeah, that's real nice,” Stiles muttered sarcastically. “Rushed all this way to get here – and just in time, too, it would seem - you're welcome, by the way – comforting you while you're convulsing on the ground and pretty much dying, and then that's what I get. First thing I get. Thanks, Derek.”

Derek groaned, then looked up into Stiles's eyes. The other shut up, looking a little stunned. “Why do you – smell like that?” he asked, over a large and sudden intake of breath.

“Jesus Christ is this really that important _right now_? I mean, really, Derek? My personal hygiene is your main concern right now? Later we need to have a talk about this thing called _sensible thinking_ you fucking-”

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, standing up, “shut _up_.”

And then he sprang back into the fight, ready to help Scott restrain Isaac. All he could think about was that later, he and Stiles needed to have a talk about this scent.

 

 ***

 

They didn't have a talk about his scent. They should have. Derek should have stopped pushing it back. He should have stopped finding more important things, should have fucking dealt with the issue while it was still just a concern.

They were running in the woods. Away from something, obviously, because nothing in their lives could ever be easy and their plans could never just work out out fucking once _please-_

And then Stiles fell.

Took a giant ass tumble and swallowed the entire earth when he face connected with the ground. Not to mention, the rest of the pack was still running, so it would have almost looked quite humorous, if Derek couldn't smell that he was scared absolutely shitless. He immediately stopped, barking orders at the rest of the pack to keep going when they followed suit, grabbed Stiles off the ground by the wrist and took a hard right.

“No, Derek! Derek – ow, stop! My leg! I think it's – ow, God, stop!” Stiles shouted, wincing.

Derek stopped, still having hold on Stiles's wrist and looked down. The leg was bent out at a terrible angle, and Derek was actually amazed that Stiles had managed to stand on that, let alone run.

“Shit!” he groaned, hoisting Stiles up so Derek was carrying him on his back and running.

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa! Now my junk is all pressed up against – fuck, okay, just fucking run and don't stop. If I get a bullet in my back I'm going to haunt you. Forever. Like your just going to feel my ghost rubbing his junk against your back day and night-”

“ _Stiles shut up_ ,” Derek hissed, trying to concentrate on the thought of having to make up for not one person's speed, but two. Not to mention he had to ignore the thought of Stiles rubbing his dick all over him. Running boners just really weren't helpful at all.

Okay, yes, so maybe he was concerned for Stiles in a way that was a little more than friendly. Maybe he found himself thinking about Stiles in times that he shouldn't be. And maybe the thought of Stiles's dick-

Nope. Nope. Avoid the topic, Derek. Shit! Avoid that gunfire, too. Since those hunters weren't smart enough to leave town, Derek now had to deal with them. And that also meant coming up with a plan to get rid of them. And it seemed like now that Stiles was done kicking in doors, he was going to have a lot more free time to help in that department.

The treeline was within site now, and from there it was only a few short miles to the hospital.

 

 ***

 

Derek really fucking regretted not pressuring Stiles into doing something about the scent when he could have. Derek really fucking regretted not doing something about it. Now he was sitting in his apartment, listening to Scott tell him over the fucking phone that something was badly wrong with Stiles. They didn't know what yet, but there was definitely something wrong, and it was much worse than a broken bone.

As soon as Scott hung up, Derek broke his phone against the wall.

 

 ***

 

“Dude, you're actually visiting me in the hospital?” Stiles asked, feigning disbelief. “This is fricking crazy. We should call a newspaper or something.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said, not entirely meaning it. He was standing just next to the door, so close to the wall that he was almost a part of it, staring down at Stiles. He looked weak in a hospital bed, and a little paler than he should be. Sweat was beading at the top of his head and under his eyes. He looked – and smelled – like death.

“You say that so often,” Stiles said with a dark smirk.

“Because you never stop talking.”

“Well, yes, because my voice is the sweetest sound on earth. I have to give the world the pleasure of hearing it. And also you pesky beings. Especially since I'm running out of time, now. What with the genetic terminal illness and all that,” Stiles said quietly, trying half-heartedly to sound joking.

“Shut up,” Derek said again, slightly harsher this time. “I don't want to hear about that. You're going to be fine.”

“Well, gosh Derek, you'd better be careful. Someone might think you care,” Stiles muttered, leaning his head back into his pillow and staring up at the ceiling.

“No, don't do that,” Derek ordered. “Don't look around with that hopeless face. That's not Stiles.”

Stiles started to laugh a harsh laugh. It sounded almost manic, with his eyes unusually wide and head lifting up a little from the force of it. “Alright, my turn. Derek _shut up_. You don't know anything about me-”

“I know you wouldn't give up,” Derek said, gaze intense, eyebrows pushing together. “I know you would never give up just because of some stupid test result. That never seems to stop you in school.”

“Excuse you,” Stiles said, craning his head and looking Derek in the eyes. “Straight A's, thank you. I'm a genius.”

“Well, you're wrong about at least one thing, Genius.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles slurred, looking back up at the ceiling. “And what's that?”

Derek backed up to the door. “I do care,” he said, backing out so he didn't have to have a conversation after that. He could already predict how it would go anyway, and it wasn't something he was looking forward to.

 

 ***

 

Derek hated sitting in his apartment all day. But it wasn't like he had anything else to do, and he couldn't go back to the hospital. After what he had said to Stiles, there would be this whole awkward conversation about feelings and nothing good ever came of that. Not to mention that Stiles couldn't give half a shit about Derek.

Derek was staring at the tv but not watching it, feeling sorry for himself, when his phone rang. It was Scott. He didn't want to answer it, but of course it could be important, so he did.

“What?”

“Good to talk to you too, sourwolf.”

“Stiles?” Derek asked, sitting up, back straight and stiff with worry.

“You know, it's amazing how strict hospitals are about phones. Won't even let me use mine to send a simple text,” Stiles groaned. “I had to wait for Scott to visit and steal his phone when he went to the bathroom. Do you know how much of a chance it was that he left it in here?”

So Stiles had decided to call _Derek?_ And why couldn't he just have asked to borrow Scott's phone?

“You're not responding,” Stiles said, as if he were stating the color of the sky. “Yeah, that's great. You know, I've got like fifteen seconds before Scott comes back or a nurse walks in or something. You're really not going to say anything? It's been two weeks, I'm still in this bed, and you haven't even talked to me. I thought we had something special, Derek!” Stiles whined. Derek could tell he was playing, but wished for a brief moment that he wasn't.

“Silence, huh? That's just great. Well, I guess I'll just keep talking, then. You know, this could be the last time you ever hear my voice, since you apparently hate being near me. Even though the last thing you said to me was that you care. Man, I wouldn't even think you were there if I couldn't hear you breathing. You breathe loudly. Shit, Scott's coming, bye.”

And then Stiles hung up, and Derek was staring at the television with a disconnected cell phone next to his ear.

 

 ***

 

“He's _dying_ , Derek,” Scott emphasized as they stood outside the hospital room Stiles was currently sleeping in. “You haven't been here in two weeks. You haven't been doing _anything_.”

Derek remained silent, staring at Scott angrily. Did he really think Derek _wanted_ to stay away? It wasn't that Derek wanted to put distance between Stiles and himself – it was that he couldn't deal with being near him.

“I'm here now,” he said lowly. Scott's eyes widened, and he could definitely sense the growl Derek had put into his words.

Scott regained his footing. “He hasn't stopped talking about you,” Scott tried again, quieter this time. And not only quieter, but softer. “Sometimes they'll give him some morphine, and he'll just be mumbling about you and insisting that you care before he falls asleep. And then he'll talk about you in his sleep.”

“Are you going to move out of the way or not?” Derek asked, glowering.

“Stiles is sleeping.”

Derek simply raised his eyebrows threateningly. He would rip Scott's arms off and throw them down the hallway. In fact, he was picturing doing just that very clearly as the path to the door cleared for him. Scott looked resigned, but stepped aside anyway.

Stiles seemed to be sleeping peacefully and Derek felt a sudden pang of guilt. And longing. In the two weeks he had been gone, Stiles had gotten significantly worse. His face was a sickly shade of yellow-white, and the smell in the room was nearly suffocating. After a long minute of just looking, Derek walked over and sat in the chair next to the bed, wondering what to do with himself.

“You know... I can barely feel my hands right now, so if you wanted to hold one... I'd be cool with that.”

Stiles hadn't even opened his eyes when he'd spoken. His lips had barely moved.

“How did you know it was me?” Derek asked, a little weary of the conversation to come.

“You're not the only one with a nose, sourwolf,” Stiles said, and even though his mouth was barely in use, Derek could hear the smirk. “But actually, I get this very specific sense whenever you're around, too. I can sort of feel this looming presence of badassness and glaring. Look, I know this kind of stuff makes you uncomfortable, so we won't talk about it. But thanks for coming. You know, Scott wouldn't even let me call you. He was too worried about bugging you and giving you time to adjust.”

“I wanted to come,” Derek said. “I just couldn't.”

“And I get that. Honestly, I do,” Stiles said, his voice scratchy. “It was Scott that needed convincing. Anyways, I know you don't want to talk about it, so let's talk about something else. What happened to the hunters? Nobody will tell me anything.”

“I sort of... ripped them to pieces,” Derek said, looking down at his hands and glancing up at Stiles when he'd finished. Now Derek could see the smirk, and it nearly made him tremble. Him. The badass werewolf was trembling.

“Good,” Stiles muttered. “Assholes shot me.”

“Yeah, that's... sort of why,” Derek conceded, smiling faintly. Slowly, he reached over and slid his hand into Stiles's. The pain Stiles was feeling, Derek knew as soon as he started to take it, was excruciating. It made his arm burn and his eyes prickle, but he took it anyway. Maybe for a little longer than necessary. After about ten seconds, he stopped and let the pain sit in himself, looking for a reaction from Stiles.

It looked like he had sunk into the bed from relief, and was currently asleep. Derek didn't get up once for seven hours, just stayed holding Stiles's hands until they were both passed out from exhaustion.

 

 ***

 

Derek woke up slumped back in a chair. When he opened his eyes, he saw Stiles watching tv in a hospital bed with a tray of half eaten breakfast pushed aside, obviously waiting to be collected by a nurse.

“Hey,” Stiles said, seemingly much healthier than he had been last night. “Did you, uh, you know-?”

“Take away your pain last night?” Derek asked, stretching slightly. “Yes.”

“No, idiot. I was going to ask you if you slept here,” Stiles said, even though the answer was quite obvious. Derek remained silent, so Stiles just thanked him. “You should get something to eat. I mean, the cafeteria is terrible, but the vending machines are great. Apart from that one I broke. That one doesn't work so well anymore.”

Derek held in a snort. “You broke a hospital vending machine?” he asked in disbelief.

“Well, to be fair, it wasn't a very good vending machine. My candy bar got stuck and then the machine just kind of... fell,” Stiles said, obviously choosing his words with care.

“The machine just... fell?” Derek asked, smirking.

“Yes, that's what I said,” Stiles exclaimed. “Now go get a healthy breakfast. No Kit Kats, only Snickers! Nuts are nutritious!”

Derek rolled his eyes, unable to ignore his stinging stomach and went out of the room. He was glad that Stiles was still well enough to make jokes. There was even a part of him that thought maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe Stiles would get better. Although, deep down, he knew things were only going to get worse.

And maybe he wasn't so hungry anymore.

 

 ***

 

Stiles had ordered Derek to go home and take a shower. Derek had been reluctant, so Stiles had threatened to call a nurse and get him kicked out, insisting that since one of them was healthy Derek should stay that way.

So he'd left and then showered and came back just in time to see Sheriff Stilinski walking out of his son's hospital room, face pale and about to be wrecked with tears. Derek ducked behind a nearby wall, watching Stiles's Dad leaving, then slowly making his way back to Stiles's room.

“He's not taking it well,” Stiles said, voice choked up, as soon as Derek came in.

“Nobody is,” Derek said. “He's your father. How could you expect him to? But you'll be fine. It's just a scare.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah. Just like my Mom was a scare,” he said, and that was when the first tear dropped from his overflowing eyes. “I, uh, I can't move my hands very well right now. Could you-”

“Yeah. Don't worry about it,” Derek said, trying to keep his breathing even as another of Stiles's tears fell. There was a box of tissues on the bedside table, so Derek grabbed them and pulled one out.

“Just... wait a second,” said Stiles. “Don't, like, think differently of me, okay?” Derek nodded of course, swallowing hard and not trusting his words as Stiles began to silently cry, looking anywhere but at Derek. Derek waited patiently, counting fourteen drops before Stiles told him to go ahead. Derek wiped Stiles's cheeks, then under his jaw to catch where some had fallen, and then the sides of his face, where they had slid down, moving with great care. As he did, another tear fell from each eye, and he dried them just the same as the others.

He saw things, reflected in those tears. He saw a different world, where Stiles lived a long life. Where Derek wasn't afraid to tell Stiles how he felt, and where Stiles felt the same. He saw a world where they could wake up together on a Saturday morning and spontaneously decide to have a lazy day. Derek would grab leftovers for breakfast and Stiles would pick a few movies and they would sit in bed all day and watch them. They would be horror movies, of course, because Stiles would insist. And then he would say that he wasn't scared, but when they fell asleep again that night he would smush himself in just a little closer to Derek than usual, and Derek would fall asleep smiling.

But then he was snapped back to reality, into this world where life was not fair. Where Stiles would never get to do such happy human things again. Where there would be no more content lazy days again, or leftover spaghetti for breakfast, or even silly things like running through rain to get inside or feeling the sun on your face at six in the morning on Christmas or birthday parties or walks when the weather was just cool enough that you smelled that dusty scent. Stiles would never get any of that ever again. Probably would never get to feel a fresh breeze on his skin. And as much as Derek had known that people around him were always dying, that his pack had a stronger risk of death just because they were associated with him, he'd never pictured this.

In every nightmare he'd ever had of Stiles dying, he'd never _ever_ pictured this. He'd never pictured Stiles having to wait in agonizing pain for a slow death. He'd never pictured anything besides a quick death in a flurry of action, where there wasn't even time to realize what had happened. But now he had to sit through it, too. He had to watch this disease spread through Stiles, and poison not just him, but everyone who was close to him.

After he finished, he put the tissue box back and tried to blink away his own tears before Stiles saw that this was killing him too. He had just started to come back. After the fire, he hadn't been Derek. Because Derek hadn't always been aggressive and angry, and Stiles had reminded him of that. Just as quickly, the part that was taking so long to be dredged out of the dark within him was lost again.

“You're quiet,” Stiles noted. The world felt completely silent apart from him.

Derek chose his next words with extreme care. He walked back over to his chair and sat again, looking at Stiles with an indecipherable expression. “I'm thinking,” he said. “In fact, I've been thinking a lot. About you. About this.” Stiles had probably known this topic would come up. He was smart, after all. “I want you to live, Stiles,” Derek said. “And I think you could... if you were turned into a werewolf.”

Stiles looked at Derek uncomfortably. “There's no way of knowing that wouldn't kill me anyways. It would just rush the process and be a lot more painful with that disgusting black goo,” he said.

“Actually...” Derek said, “There is a way we could find out.”

Stiles stared at him, his face unreadable. Derek thought maybe he was daring himself not to hope. “How?” he asked.

“Your blood,” Derek answered. “We take some of your blood and mix it with venom from the Alpha bite. If it doesn't turn black, it's safe to say we could turn you.” He tried not to let his own hope show in his voice.

“How long would that take?” Stiles asked.

“Minutes,” Derek replied. “Of course, I'm not an Alpha anymore, so we'd have to ask Scott. But he would do it. To save you, he would do it.”

“He's at school right now,” Stiles said.

“I'm pretty sure this is a little more important, Stiles,” Derek said. “So is it okay if I do this?”

Stiles looked to be indecisive for a moment. “Sure,” he said at last, if a little unsurely. “I mean, it's not as if I can feel much of anything, so no worries about the pain. How much blood do you need?”

“A few drops should be more than enough,” Derek said. “I just need something to put it in.”

“You could put it on a tissue,” Stiles suggested.

So Derek grabbed a tissue and grew a claw. With the greatest care, he slid his claw into the side of Stiles's hand, catching the small stream of blood that fell out with a tissue until the bleeding stopped. He looked up at Stiles with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “I'll be back soon,” he promised, then swept out the door.

 

 ***

 

It was easy to pull Scott out of school. All Derek had to do was walk in and find him, and then Scott was practically sold on the situation. He pushed Derek into a janitor's closet and bared his teeth. Fangs grew as bright red eyes glowed. Scott tilted his head back, and Derek waited anxiously as a few drops of silver, almost clear liquid drizzled down off of his teeth. They landed on the tissue, mixing with Stiles's blood, and Derek stared with held breath. Nothing happened for a minute. The venom just seeped through the tissue. Still nothing happened, which was the best sign Derek could hope for.

The tissue never turned black. Derek waited a full twenty-four minutes, neither him nor Scott speaking a word. The tissue never turned black.

“Does this mean Stiles could live with the bite?” Scott asked, looking up at Derek, who was staring in disbelief at the tissue. Stiles wouldn't have to die. Stiles could live a long life full of birthdays and lazy days and potato chips and his dad would never have to worry about him getting even the flu ever again.

“I think so,” Derek answered, actually grinning. “This is your last period of the day, right? Come by the hospital right after school, Scott, _right_ after school!” He threw the door open and sprinted all the way out to his car. Stiles didn't have to die. This was good news. Stiles could be a werewolf.

 

 ***

 

Derek reached the hospital in record time. He ran up to Stiles's room, still clutching the bloody tissue, and burst inside.

Stiles tried to sit up a little straighter, clearly nervous. Derek could hear Stiles's heart beating louder than his own, and he had just run up three flights of stairs. “Well?” he asked, clearly trying to move something anxiously, but the pain or the numbness not letting him.

“You can take the bite,” Derek said, holding up the tissue as proof. The blood was still red, but shinier now. The venom had mixed with it. “Scott's coming by after school.”

“Derek, wait,” Stiles said. Derek stared at Stiles. Why wasn't he thrilled? Why wasn't he over the moon that he wasn't going to die? Why weren't his eyes filled with hope and why wasn't he smiling with all his teeth? “I don't want it.”

“Oh, come on, Stiles!” Derek exclaimed. “I know you've never wanted it, but if it saves your life-”

“Derek, _no_ ,” Stiles said, and it was probably shouting for him. “I don't want it!”

“Why not?” Derek asked. “You're being a goddamn child, Stiles! It's not that bad!”

“That's not why I don't want it!” Stiles shouted, clearly straining. “It's not that at all! Super strength, speed, and healing? Hell _yes,_ I want that, who wouldn't?”

“Then you do want the bite?” Derek asked.

“No!” Stiles shouted again, growing frustrated with either Derek or himself.

“Then what is it?” Derek yelled.

Stiles didn't respond right away, which made the room sound suddenly incredibly silent. Derek shrank back down again, realizing he may have gone a little overboard.

“Purgatory,” Stiles said finally, much quieter now.

“What?” Derek asked.

“Purgatory,” Stiles repeated. “There's Heaven, there's Hell... and then there's Purgatory.”

“I've heard of Purgatory,” Derek said. “What does it have to do with anything?”

“Humans go to either Heaven or Hell when they die, depending on their beliefs and how much they've sinned, right? I feel like I've been fine in that respect. But... Legendary creatures... Vampires, Kanimas, Demons,” Stiles paused, “Werewolves... They all go to Purgatory.”

Derek's eyebrows told him to go on.

“If I become a werewolf, when I die, I go to Purgatory,” Stiles repeated. “If I go to Purgatory... I'll never see my Mom again.”

Derek stared at Stiles for a minute until his gaze had completely softened. “I'm sorry,” he said. Even though Stiles's Mom was the reason they were in this mess. Although, if Derek said that, he should also realize that Stiles would not in fact be there without his Mom.

“Nah, don't be,” Stiles said genuinely. “I mean, how could you know? It's just... if I'm going to die I want to die human. I mean, that's how she raised me and that's the way I lived and... I don't know.”

Derek choked back something stuck inhis throat. “Okay,” he said. It was even more disappointing now, knowing they had a chance but that Stiles wouldn't take it.

“I'm sor-”

“Shut up,” Derek said. “Don't be sorry. Of course I get it. Okay.” There was a long pause as Derek tried to comprehend this. “So...” he trailed off.

“So,” Stiles finished for him, “I'm going to die.”

 

 ***

 

“You're an idiot,” Stiles said, a few days later. Derek had smuggled in Chinese food for him, and they were eating it together. Stiles had managed to work into a sitting position, which seemed to be an incredible feat. They were watching the show _Supernatural_ , which they had found by scrolling through channels one day, and since then they had sort of gotten addicted. Now they were in a debate on if Dean was gay for Cas. “I mean, no heterosexual man stares at another man for that long without blinking! And just the _way_ he was staring.”

“They're not even the same _species_ ,” Derek emphasized after a bite of orange chicken, looking away from Stiles.

“So?” Stiles asked. “Neither are we!”

Derek's gaze snapped back to Stiles. Was he implying that they were in love? (He'd certainly be right on one side, but _Stiles_? In love with _Derek_? The idea was laughable.) “What?” he asked.

“I just-” Stiles spluttered. “Well, I mean- just that. We're not the same species. Like. You're a werewolf. Yeah. There's nothing wrong with that. People can be different species and still, like, associate. I mean, I'm not saying that we're in love- oh my God I need to stop talking now.” Stiles's face was red. Well, as red as it could be.

“Your heart's racing,” Derek said, looking at Stiles intently.

“I'm dying I have no idea what I'm saying,” Stiles said.

“I wish you wouldn't joke about that,” Derek said. He refused to look away from Stiles, even though he knew Stiles was pointedly ignoring his gaze.

“Who cares?” Stiles said. “It's just a fact. I-”

“I care,” Derek said. “I told you that before. I care a lot.”

Finally, Stiles looked over at him, unsurety written all over his face, plain as day. “Maybe... Maybe I know from experience how a human can love someone from another species,” he said, swallowing, drawing Derek's attention to his lips. “And please tell me I don't have to be any more blatant than that.”

Derek leaned in slowly. “No,” he said quietly, drawing in and pressing his lips to Stiles's. It was short, but perfect. No more than two seconds, and Derek was dizzy. And Stiles _whined_.

“That was it?” Stiles complained. “Just a little-” he puckered his lips and made a kiss noise “-and then it's over? No wonderful first kiss that's like a minute and a half long with smiling and- ugh, you loser, get back here.” Stiles used probably ninety percent of his strength for the day to grab Derek and pull him over. The meeting of their lips was a lot messier this time, for many reasons. Derek didn't complain.

“Shut up and relax,” Derek chided, biting Stiles's lower lip.

Stiles smirked. “You know, I think I'm feeling better,” he said.

Derek rolled his eyes, and goddammit Stiles must have _felt_ it because he burst out laughing and pulled away. “In conclusion, I'm pretty sure Dean and Cas are in love.”

 

 ***

 

“I can't feel my legs anymore,” Stiles said one day. It was just like any other day. Except for the fact that he and Derek were in a hospital room, blinds pulled and television on. So, really, it was any other recent day.

“Don't say that,” Derek pleaded.

“There's a minute when I wake up,” Stiles said quietly, “just before I open my eyes. It's like my memory's been wiped clean – I have no idea where I am or why I'm here. And then I'll remember. And then I'll open my eyes. Every morning, I wake up and realize I'm going to die. You'd think it would get old...”

“Stiles, please just... stop,” Derek begged. “I can't take it... I can't hear you say that stuff.”

“Well, you're the only one that's ever here. I mean, my Dad's the Sheriff. His son's dying and he still can't get off work. He tries to make it an hour a day and I'm too busy worrying about how he's going to get along after I'm gone to tell him any of this. Half the time you're here – which is a lot by the way, not that I'm complaining – we don't even talk. I figure I should fill the silence with something,” Stiles reasoned.

“Well, not that. Anything but that,” Derek said, grimacing. He knew that Stiles was going to die, but he didn't want to spend all of the time until that point talking about it.

“My Dad's supposed to visit me today,” he tried. “Are you going to stick around? Maybe help me tell him about us? What are 'us' anyway? I mean, one of us has to ask.”

“We're Stiles and Derek,” Derek answered, reaching over and grabbing Stiles's clammy hand. “And we'll continue to be Stiles and Derek as long as we're both alive.”

“You really mean that?” Stiles asked.

“Of course I do,” Derek assured him resolutely.

“Well, good, because I really need help to take a shower and there's this one nurse with a funny eye who's always staring at me and I think one mention of me without clothes and she's there and I just-” Stiles ended with an exaggerrated shudder.

 

 ***

 

Derek could hear the Sheriff speaking outside the room. Stiles was sleeping, and Derek was still there (holding his hand), listening to Stiles's father's conversation with a nurse like a creep.

“There's really... nothing?” the Sheriff asked. Derek could see the slump of his shoulders, the hopelessness in his eyes, even without laying eyes on the Sheriff. “No treatment of any kind?”

“I'm sorry, sir,” the nurse was saying. She didn't sound sorry. She sounded like this was her job and she was paid to have sympathy. Derek gritted his teeth. “The tests have been thorough, and the data was conclusive. There's nothing we can do at this point other than make him comfortable.”

“No, there's got to be something you overlooked. He can't just- he's my kid. I lost my wife to the same thing. And now my son is dying before he's even lived,” the Sheriff said. “I can't just stand by and watch. There's got to be something you can do.”

“I can adjust his room temperature and fix his pillows. That's it at this point, sir. I'm sorry,” the nurse said.

“No, don't tell me you're _sorry_!” the Sheriff suddenly yelled, and Derek would have been able to hear him without his werewolf powers. He heard at least seven heartbeats start to increase. “When my wife died, all I got was sorry! And now my kids dying-!” He abruptly cut himself off.

“Sir, for the time being, all you can do is be with him,” the nurse said calmly. “We'll continue to investigate his case-”

“Don't ' _investigate his case_ '! Heal him! His name is Stiles, he's seventeen years old, he's a straight A student, and he's my son! Don't narrow him down to a case file!” the Sheriff shouted.

“Sir, if you don't calm down, I'm going to have to ask you to leave,” the nurse said, and Derek actually had to let go of Stiles's hand because she was making him so angry that his claws were growing and his jaw was clenched around his fangs.

“Fine,” the Sheriff growled, and Derek heard quick footsteps approaching the door. The alarm was just enough to allow him to regain control and pull his extra features back. The door opened and in walked the Sheriff, surpised to find Derek, to say the least. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

“I'm here to see Stiles,” Derek answered calmly. “And I'm sure you realize that we both want the same thing. Just one thing. To be with Stiles. But I'll give you some time alone. Good night, sir.” Derek bowed his head as he walked past the Sheriff, who was very taken aback (and smelling not-so-faintly of whiskey).

 

 ***

 

“I'm not going to have sex with you, Stiles.”

“Der-ek!” Stiles whined. “I'm feeling better!”

“You're on your death bed. In the hospital. Full of other people,” Derek said. “I'm not going to have sex with you.”

“It's literally the only thing I will ever ask of you, ever again,” Stiles pleaded.

“Your dying wish... is to have sex with me?” Derek asked in disbelief. He could admit that he was at least definitely flattered.

“You'll be the only person in the world besides me to ever give me an orgasm,” Stiles said.

Derek really shouldn't think about Stiles's orgasm right now. Definitely shouldn't think about his face or his dick or his voice-

“It's not going to happen, Stiles,” Derek said firmly. “Who knows how much strength that would take out of you? _And_ we're in a hospital. Besides, we don't even know if you're sane enough to make this decision-”

“Oh, you are _so_ not pulling that card, Derek,” Stiles groaned, and Derek could tell he was actually a little frustrated. “I'm perfectly sane. I'm as sane as I've ever been.”

“Exactly. That's what I'm saying,” Derek insisted.

Stiles groaned. “Fine. I'll let it slide because you actually made a joke for once instead of just glowering at me, but I'm not happy. You know I always get what I want, Derek.”

“For the last time, I'm not going to have sex with you in a hospital, Stiles,” Derek said, his tone very final.

“Then take me home.”

“Oh my God.”

“You gave me a shower yesterday! It's not like you haven't seen me naked! What's the difference?” Stiles asked.

“The difference is you didn't come in the shower yesterday,” Derek said. “And I had to hold you up, for the record, so that shower doesn't help you at all. Even though this room does smell a lot better, actually.”

“You're welcome,” Stiles chimed. “You know what's a good reward? Orgasms. Like, multiple. As many as you're up for.”

At least it was good to know that Stiles hadn't changed.

 

 ***

 

“I knew you would cave,” Stiles said, using the walker to prove his point. Derek had taken as much pain as was safe (okay, or maybe a little more but who could tell) from Stiles before the Sheriff had signed him out of the hospital. “Man, I'm glad I don't have to go there ever again. Everything about that place sucked.”

Derek rolled his eyes, helping Stiles along. “We're still not having sex,” Derek said. “This is for comfort reasons."

“Whatever you have to tell yourself,” Stiles said. “But I'm _dying_. I'll get you in the end.”

“I cannot believe you are actually using death as a guilt worker,” Derek groaned. “And for sex? I don't- okay, wait, no I do believe it. That's exactly the kind of thing you would do.”

“So is this you conceding?”

“No.”

“It's better to talk it through first, you know,” Stiles said. “If we do it spontaneously we're just going to have to talk about it afterwards-”

“And if we don't we never have to talk about it at all,” Derek concluded. “Now, where did I park...”

 

 ***

 

It was two days later that Sheriff Stilinski pulled Derek out of Stiles's room when he was sleeping. “Listen, Derek,” he began quietly, “I know I was sort of... rude to you the other day at the hospital. I just wanted to say... I'm sorry.”

“There's nothing to apologize for, sir,” Derek said.

“No, that's not true,” the Sheriff insisted. “No matter what predicament I'm in, it's no excuse for me to snap at others, and I lost my head.”

“I can't imagine it would be easy to keep it at a time like this,” Derek said. “In fact, you're handling this a lot better than most people would I think, if I can say so.”

“No, I'm really not,” the Sheriff said darkly. “But I put up a damn good act of it, don't I? I just can't have him seeing it. The truth is, I don't know what I'm going to do when he's gone. Stiles is all I have left.”

“I'm sure things will get better,” Derek said unsurely.

The Sheriff looked at Derek for a long second. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “For being here for Stiles when I can't be. If I can't be near... it's nice to know we've got the next best thing. You've dropped everything and practically moved in. Why don't you come to dinner, officially?”

Derek smiled. It wasn't a big grin, but it was something. “Thank you, sir. That would be nice,” he said.

The Sheriff returned Derek's smile and patted him on the shoulder. “Oh – and no more 'sir.' Call me John from now on. You've earned it.”

Derek nodded. “Thank you, John,” he said.

“Alright, now get back in there. I'll make pasta and we'll drag him downstairs and it'll be something special.

 

 ***

 

It had been their last dinner together as a family. As soon as they'd gotten back upstairs, Stiles had insisted that he wouldn't be able to do that again, no matter how much he wanted to; he was just emotionally and physically exhausted.

“I'm not... it's not going to be much longer now, is it?” Stiles asked.

Derek looked somber and shook his head, trying to ignore the suddenly very prominent scent in the room. The scent of death.

 

 ***

 

“I can't feel anything below my back anymore,” was the first thing Stiles muttered that morning, before he'd even opened his eyes. Derek woke up next to him (yes they shared the bed for now) and sighed sleepily. He ran his fingers along Stiles's arm.

“Can you feel that?” Derek asked.

“Barely... wait... well, yeah,” Stiles said quietly.

“Then that's what I want you to focus on. Not on what you can't do.” Derek leaned over and kissed the top of Stiles's head.

“I'm not going to be around for much longer, am I?” Stiles asked in barely a whisper.

Derek didn't answer. The scent of death hung heavily in the air – in a way Derek had never smelled before. With the hand he wasn't tracing lines into Stiles's fragile skin with, he took Stiles's hand and held it tightly.

“Well, then I guess there's no point in putting it off or not saying it or whatever. Uh, just give me a – okay, Derek,” Stiles said resolutely, “I love you. Is that okay?”

Derek smiled, brought Stiles's fingers to his lips and gently kissed. “That's very okay,” Derek answered. “I love you, too.”

Stiles came as close to a grin as he could, filling Derek with a cold warmth that he found very conflicting and didn't know was possible. “Well, that's a relief,” he said. “I was kind of nervous that if I told you that you would hate me and I would never see you again. That would have sucked.”

“I agree,” Derek mumbled in Stiles's ear. “I would not have found that outcome favorable.” He leaned down and kissed Stiles's lips this time, keeping his eyes closed and enjoying it. After a second, Stiles abruptly turned away.

“Okay, dude, no offense – like, kissing you is awesome – but you really need to go brush your teeth before we continue – and we are definitely going to continue,” Stiles insisted, giving a half smirk that should have been a full smirk. Derek rolled his eyes affectionately, but stood up nevertheless and moved to his drawer. Yes, he had a temporary drawer in Stiles's room now, filled with clothes and a toothbrush. It was just until... he wasn't needed any more, but seeing as the Sheriff could not catch a break and find time off, Derek was the unofficial caretaker. Neither Derek nor Stiles had a complaint with this.

Derek grabbed his toothbrush and walked into the bathroom. It was a quick, boring two minutes where absolutely nothing eventful happened. Derek stared at his own face in the mirror and listened to the sound of bristles on his teeth. Stiles was breathing evenly and calmly in his room, and the both of them were still obviously waking up. When he finished, he walked back into the bedroom and pulled off his shirt, then set it on the dresser. He pulled out another shirt from his drawer – gray, just like the other; Derek wasn't very creative – and started pulling it on before Stiles spoke.

“Wait. Leave it off for a minute,” he said from the bed.

“Stiles, for the last time, I am not going to have sex with you,” Derek monotoned.

“No,” Stiles said. “I mean- just come here.” Stiles said, beckoning with what strength he had. Derek was skeptical, but walked over anyway and sat on the bed. He felt Stiles run his fingers over the gray shirt before pulling it up, revealing his tattoo. Cold fingers were running along Derek's back. He suppressed shivers, instead reveling in the touch, because it was still Stiles. “I like it,” Stiles mumbled contentedly.

“Me too,” Derek said. “That's why I burned it into my skin.” Stiles chuckled.

“I like it when you tell jokes, too,” Stiles said. His fingers were suddenly absent from Derek's back, and Derek turned back to look at him curiously. “You can put your shirt back on if you want. I mean, you don't have to Stiles hinted not so subtly,” Stiles said, leaning back into his bed.

Derek rolled his shirt back down and resumed his laying position next to Stiles. “Do you need anything?” he asked.

“I need you to make out with me right now.”

 

 ***

 

Stiles was generally awake for only four hours a day now. Derek had taken to keeping the window open in order to air out the increasingly strong (he hadn't even thought that had been possible) scent of death in the room that was becoming too much for him. It wouldn't be long now, that much was obvious. Derek had never dared to push the Bite question again, for fear of upsetting Stiles or making him cry for the first time since he had wiped Stiles's tears at the hospital.

“I'm hungry,” were Stiles's first choice of words that day. “Do we have any more spaghetti?”

“I could certainly go look,” Derek offered, pulling on a dark green shirt. He kissed Stiles on the way out of the room. He wanted to smile, but he couldn't. Not when he knew that Stiles wouldn't last the week.

“And Derek?” came a call from the room.

Derek stuck his head back in the room and looked at Stiles. “Yes?” he asked.

“Can you make me chocolate milk?” Stiles asked with an exaggerrated sweet smile. He was totally milking Derek. Derek didn't even mind. He just rolled his eyes affectionately and resumed his walk downstairs.

There was, in fact, spaghetti left over. Derek heated up a bowl and gathered himself, letting a few of his tears fall down. It took everything in him not to leave Stiles. His brain was screaming at him to get out while he could – but aside from the fact the he wanted to be with Stiles, he knew that Stiles needed him and that as much pain as this was going to be, he couldn't leave if he tried.

A minute later, Derek was bringing a plate of spaghetti and a glass of (extra chocolate) chocolate milk up to Stiles, sans emotions. The door was already open, as it generally remained nowadays, another contribution to airing out the room. It also helped the Sheriff, whenever he was passing by he could stick his head in and check up on Stiles.

“I looooooove you,” Stiles sighed as Derek re-entered the room.

Derek smirked and kissed the top of Stiles's head. “I love you, too. Do you need anything else?” he asked. It really was unfair that even on his deathbed Stiles had the power to make Derek smile.

“Nope, I'm-” Stiles faltered for half a second. His voice died, and he covered with, “I'm good,” but it was enough to make Derek concerned.

“What?” Derek asked, his eyebrows pulling together.

“I... I'm going to die soon.” Stiles swallowed hard. “It's... nothing. I'm just obviously not psyched about that.”

“Well, you're not the only one,” Derek said, his voice trembling. He pushed his hand into Stiles's, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. “Just know that you won't be forgotten.”

“I've just been thinking about death and stuff a lot lately,” Stiles continued. He began rubbing Derek's hand lightly with his thumb. “Like, we're all going to be dead one day. There's going to be a day where none of this exists, and who knows what the hell happens next. It freaks me out. I wonder if I'll ever be caught on a ghost show in, like, the year 3000. They'll have really high-tech ghost hunting equipment by then. But I don't think it would be really nice to be a ghost. I don't even know why I'm saying all of this, I just-”

“No, I get it,” Derek assured him. “And, yeah, it's scary to think about. But nobody can stop it and change is natural, so what's the point in worrying about it? Bottom line, when you look back on your life, can you say it was a good one? I think you can, Stiles.”

Derek looked over and sighed. Stiles had fallen asleep, leaving a half finished plate of spaghetti on his chest and a bottle of chocolate milk tipped over (thankfully capped) on the bed next to him. Derek took the plate with the hand not locked in Stiles's and put it on the nightstand, then worked himself into a comfortable position and tried to ignore his feeling of dread.

 

 ***

 

“I'm going to die today.”

Those were not the five words Derek wanted to wake him up. Derek didn't want to hear those words at all, ever, actually.

“Oh, man. You were sleeping. Sorry. I wasn't thinking,” Stiles murmured. His head was laid back on Derek's arm, compensating for the slight adjustment as Derek stirred awake.

“What do you mean you're going to die today?” asked Derek, ignoring the terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. The scent was foul enough today that Derek had to breathe through his mouth.

“I mean,” said Stiles, blinking back tears and staring at the ceiling, “that today is my last day.”

“What makes you say that?” Derek didn't want Stiles to answer. Derek wanted to stop time. He wanted to collapse on the ground and break down. He wanted to throw things and smash things but was also pretty sure that he wouldn't have the willpower to.

“I just know.”

“Is there anything specific you want?” Derek asked.

“I want to be with you all day,” Stiles said. “I never want you out of my sight. Just... can you call my Dad? I want to see him... just one more time, if he can get off work. But if he comes, he won't leave. So don't tell him all of it. Just tell him that the tv won't work or something. I want to spend my last day with you.”

Did Stiles really expect Derek to not break down crying at those words? Derek wasn't a fucking rock, not even close. He didn't know how he was able to hold on. He just nodded, not trusting his voice, and pulled out his phone to make a call.

A few minutes later, after some convincing from Stiles, the Sheriff was walking up the stairs and into Stiles's room. Derek could hear Stiles's weak heart racing as his father stuck his head in the door. “Hey, kid. How're you feeling?” he asked. Derek could smell the whiskey he'd been drinking.

“Good,” Stiles lied. “Good. It's just the tv. We can't get it to turn on.”

“Did either of you even get out of bed to try it?” the Sheriff asked. His voice sounded like he wanted to laugh, but he probably couldn't if he tried.

“Derek did,” Stiles answered. The Sheriff rolled his eyes. He went over to inspect the tv, then heaved an even greater sigh. “Well, tv's generally requite electricity to work. Try plugging it in next time.” The Sheriff pushed the chord into the wall and shook his head. “Nice work, geniuses. I drove all the way here for this?”

“Thanks, Dad,” Stiles said. “I love you.”

The Sheriff suddenly became much more serious. He looked aged, with so many lines of worry decorating his face. “I love you, too, Stiles. It's not fair, I know. I hate that I can't be here. I honest to God hate it so much that I can't tell you how many times I've thought about quitting. You mean more to me than anything, and I'm sorry that I can't be here. I'm sorry, Stiles. For everything I've put you through.”

“It's okay, Dad,” Stiles said, tearing up. He was probably using all his strength to squeeze Derek's hand, but Derek barely felt it. “You know I'm always happy to help you out.”

Stiles's father was choked up. He cleared his throat, and as he did, a tear fell from his right eye. “You know, I'm gonna miss you like hell,” he said.

Stiles smiled grimly. “What would you go and do a crazy thing like that for?” Stiles joked lightly. “Sounds like kind of a pathetic thing to let rule your life. Ask Derek here. He doesn't even care.”

Derek let out a harsh laugh and pulled Stiles closer. Now that the Sheriff's attention was redirected, he said to Derek, “I want to thank you again for being here. It means the world. This family owes you a great debt.” Derek couldn't help but think this wasn't much of a family. Or, at least, it was about to be a family falling apart.

“I'm just sorry that I have to be here,” Derek said. “I'm sorry that we disturbed you from wokring, sir.”

“No, I'm glad you did,” the Sheriff said. “Any chance I can have to get away from that place, I'll take. But... I suppose I should be getting back. I'll see you tonight, Stiles. I should be home around six.”

Stiles nodded and watched his father walk out. He waited until Derek gave him a nod that meant Stiles's Dad had left, then said, “I would have hugged him, but my arms are eighty percent numb. That was a good line, by the way. The thing you said to him. That was good.”

Derek couldn't say anything. What did you say when the person you loved was dying? What comfort could be found in words? He pulled Stiles in closer, until they were pressed chest to chest in bed, and kissed the top of Stiles's head repeatedly.

“You're going silent on me again? Last day I can hear your voice, Derek,” Stiles said.

“And the last day I can hear yours,” said Derek as the dam broke. Maybe Stiles wouldn't notice if his eyes went blurry. Or if a few tears happened to fall. “Please, just... talk. Just say anything,” Derek begged. “I just want to hear you talk.”

“Wow. Never thought I'd hear you say that,” Stiles mused. “Not that my voice sounds wonderful anymore. My throat's been screwed to hell lately.”

“I don't care,” Derek said, squeezing a few more tears out. “Just talk.”

Stiles spoke continuously for almost an hour, with Derek listening to every single word he said, smiling lightly when he told a joke and doing everything he could to keep the tears from falling, and when he couldn't do that, doing everything he could to keep it silent. It started with the weather, somehow made it to how boxing has always been rigged, and ended up with a story about his inbred goldfish.

“Okay, I can't talk anymore, it's your turn,” Stiles said.

“What do you want me to talk about?” Derek asked.

“Talk about yourself,” Stiles said into Derek's chest, still held tight after an hour. “I want to hear about you.”

“I don't know what to say,” Derek said.

“Just... talk. About happy childhood memories. You have those, right? Little things that seem unimportant, but looking back, you realize they were the best things about your life? Like, I remember this one time when I was seven, my Mom had the idea to do a lemonade stand...” And then Stiles was off for another fifteen minutes, and the monologue ended with a story about a gorilla that Derek was pretty sure was at least 97% fiction.

When he finished, Derek asked, “Do you want anything?”

“I want you to kiss me right now, and I want it to be the best damn last kiss in all eternity,” Stiles said resolutely.

Derek swallowed and licked his lips. He slowly leaned down and looked at Stiles's face (which was much too pale and sunken in for Derek's liking), then brushed their lips together. Stiles responded immediately, and it took no effort for Derek to deepen the kiss. He brought his hand back behind Stiles's head and worked himself into a position where he was over Stiles, putting the full force of his emotions into this one kiss. Derek could feel Stiles crying, but couldn't find it in himself to break off the kiss. If this was the last one, then goddamn, it _was_ going to be the best last kiss in all of goddamn eternity.

Derek brought his hand down to hold Stiles's jaw, feeling the movements and the strain. It wasn't easy, forcing himself to keep kissing, but the wolf inside him wouldn't let this moment go. Stiles broke it off first, panting, and Derek touched their foreheads together. “Fuck,” Stiles breathed. “That was a job very well done.”

“I had some pretty good inspiration,” Derek replied. He didn't open his eyes yet. Stiles had maybe two more hours. It would be right in the middle of the afternoon, not fitting at all. The world should be mourning. The sky should be gray and all the birds should be silent. The plants should be wilted and it should be raining.

“I love you,” Stiles said.

“I know.”

“I know you know. I'm just reminding you anyways.”

“I love you, too.”

“I know.”

 

 ***

 

Stiles's breathing was ragged. His eyes were closed. Derek was sitting in a chair next to the bed and holding Stiles's hand tightly, their sweat mingling together on the surface of their skin.

“Stiles, are you sure about the bite?” Derek asked. “I could get Scott here-”

“No,” Stiles cut off hoarsely. Even now, his voice sounded firm. Derek hated him. How could he be so fine with dying?

“I love you,” Stiles said. “I mean, I never thought I would. At first you kind of scared the hell out of me. I'm not sure where along the way I fell in love, actually. But the point is, there is literally nobody else in the world I would wish to be in your place right now.”

“Not even your Dad?” Derek asked, just prompting Stiles to talk more.

“No. He wouldn't know how to handle it,” Stiles said. “I love him. I do. I love him a lot. But he could never deal with this sort of thing. It's better that he's not here. No matter how much I want him to be.”

“I love you,” Derek said. Stiles had a few minutes left, at most.

Stiles let out a hum that was probably supposed to count as a laugh. Derek felt a sick twisting in his stomach and tears prickling behind his eyes. “I love you, too.” He paused for a second, and Derek was listening so intently for every next heartbeat that he nearly jumped when Stiles said, “I have a confession.”

“And what's that?” Derek asked.

Stiles paused again for a minute. It was probably getting very difficult for him to speak now. “I'm scared,” he choked out quietly. “I'm scared as all hell. Where are you going?”

Derek immediately moved from the chair he was sitting in, never letting go of Stiles's hand as he crawled into the bed. “Absolutely nowhere,” Derek mumbled into Stiles's ear, his tear tracks leading to the pillow and beginning to make a small puddle. “I'm staying right here. Right here with you.” He pulled Stiles into him, fitting their bodies together so that Derek's warmth could penetrate every inch of Stiles's cool, clammy skin.

Not twenty seconds later, Stiles's heart stopped beating.

Derek's mind blanked. His tongue became thick and his heart went from not beating at all to beating thirty times its normal pace. “Stiles?” he asked, although he knew that he would get no response. He would get no response ever again. He would never see another smile, share another kiss, hear another laugh. He could still feel Stiles's fingers tracing his tattoo, and he pulled Stiles's body closer into him. The first sob wracked through him like a thousand knives. A thousand knives that wouldn't heal. The second came like a punch to the throat, the third, a stab to the gut. The rest came flowing out after that, and still, he wouldn't give up hope that he would hear the heartbeat, even though he knew that the thought was preposterous.

Three hours later, he was still in the same position, only Stiles was much colder now. Derek wished he could trick himself – could pretend that Stiles was sleeping. Just sleeping one last time. And then he heard the front door open, and realized that he would have to explain everything that happened to the Sheriff.

“Stiles?” came a call from the bottom of the stairs. Derek could hear the Sheriff taking two at a time, rushing to get up them. As soon as he got in the room, he said, “I just had this feeling...”

“Mr. Stilinski,” Derek croaked out. He didn't want to let Stiles go, but he couldn't hold on forever. Three hours, by God, Derek Hale, three hours was long enough, he told himself. Slowly, he set Stiles back onto the pillows and turned to the Sheriff. The first thing he saw, plain as day, was denial written all over his face.

“He's not...” It was more of a statement than a question. It was him denying it.

“I'm so sorry,” Derek said, because what else could he say?

“No,” the Sheriff insisted. “No, he can't be. This can't happen again!” He ran over to Stiles's body and let out a gasp of desperation. “I couldn't... I couldn't have missed them both,” he said. He looked up at Derek, eyes filled with tears to the point where the color beneath was barely distinguishable. “When?” he asked.

“A few hours ago,” Derek answered rawly. Had the time really moved that fast? Had it really been so long? “I'm sorry I didn't call I- I just- I don't know what happened,” he said, not completely lying.

“My son has been dead for hours...” the Sheriff repeated, almost as if he didn't believe it. Almost as if the evidence of his eyes wasn't enough. “I need to be alone with my son right now,” he said. “Could you...?”

“Of course,” Derek said, but what he really wanted was to stay in that room forever. He didn't want to leave Stiles's side. He didn't want to share, he wanted all of the grief for himself. It was ridiculous, of course, so Derek took gradual movements until he knew for sure he could do it. After that, everything was harsh. Standing and walking to the door was full of jerky movements. He felt lost, not seeing Stiles anymore. Once he got out of the room, he didn't stop. Derek kept going until he was down the stairs, out of the house, and walking down the street towards the woods. He needed to be alone, and what better solitude could there be than the muffled silence of the trees? He needed time to think, to keep hearing Stiles voice, to admit to himself that he wasn't ready to let go.

At the edge of the forest, Derek took off running, and he didn't stop until his legs hurt and he couldn't breathe.


End file.
